


Names Cried in the Night

by Meraad



Series: The Disaster that is Evelyn Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 01:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraad/pseuds/Meraad
Summary: Leliana and Cassandra told Evelyn Trevelyan she was free to leave after sealing the Breach. So she did. On her journey as far from the Inquisition as she can possibly get she finds herself lingering in the Hinterlands where she meets Blackwall.AU One-shot of my Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan from Mercy (no you don't have to read it for things to make sense) - Evelyn is self-destructive, has terrible coping mechanisms and a lot of self-loathing.





	Names Cried in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> I've really been joying writing Evelyn in Mercy but wanted to explore her character a bit more, without having to deal with the plot of Mercy interfering. So... smut. Oops?

Blackwall stood with his arms over his chest, watching the woman slaughter the demons with what could only be described as maniacal glee. Her every move was grace personified, like a well-choreographed dance. The demons had never stood a chance. By the time he crossed the distance, the woman, short and curvy with thick brown hair falling over her shoulders, sat on a boulder, cursing the demons and Maker knew what else.

Demon ichor dripped from the tip of the blade as it lay across her thighs while she dug in the pouch that hung from her belt. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone cut through the demons so well,” he commented. Blackwall himself had killed a number of them since they’d started spilling forth from the sky. But not with such finesse.

The woman startled, looked up at him, then a bland expression replaced it, she raised one brow, then lowered her head to dig through the bag again. Finally, finding what she’d been looking for, she withdrew a flask, pulled out the stopper and took a long pull. She drank. Gulped it down. Then pulled the flask away, stoppered it and set it against her foot as she set to wipe the blade clean. “Can I help you?” she asked when he continued to stand there watching her.

It startled him, the sound of her voice, low and soft and full of ice. Also, the fact that he was still standing there staring at her. It was clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” Blackwall asked her, genuinely curious. Maker, it had been a beautiful sight.

He’d been alone too long in the middle of nowhere, he realized. He didn’t mind being alone, preferred the quiet most nights. When he didn’t, he’d sometimes go down to the Crossroads, have a pint at the tavern there. But it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. Reaching up to rub his jaw he told himself he needed to leave.

The woman looked up at him through her lashes, there was nothing coy or seductive about it, she radiated nothing but rage and annoyance, but nonetheless, Blackwall felt the blood rush to his dick. _Far too long alone_ , he thought. “Right,” he coughed, rubbed the back of his neck and walked away.

 

Evelyn kept her head down, though she watched the man as he walked away. The pain in her left hand was excruciating and it was all she could do not to yank out her dagger and cut away at it. Reaching down she fumbled for the flask again, gulped down the rest of the far too weak alcohol. Being drunk made it better. Easier to forget. Numbed the pain. Well, _some_ pains. She reached up and absently curled her fingers around the locket that hung around her neck.

“ _Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck your farce of a fucking Chantry. Fuck the Maker and Andraste too.”_

The pain in her palm flared up and she jerked her head up, looking around, half expecting to see a rift opening up in front of her. But no, it was quiet, the only sound was that of a nearby waterfall, birds and a small pack of fennec foxes skittering between the bushes not far away.

She hated the Hinterlands, didn’t know why she was still there. Her intention had only been to stop there for supplies and then she was heading for the Free Marches. Though not to Kirkwall, there was nothing there for her anymore. Hadn’t been for a very long time. But maybe Markham or Hercinia.

 _There are still rift_ _s_ _,_ a tiny voice whispered. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Isaak’s. Unexpected tears burned her eyes.

“I don’t care,” she bit out the words, resigning to the fact that the dry handkerchief was doing nothing to clean the ichor from her blade. Frustrated, she sheathed it as she stood. “I’m leaving in the morning. Fuck the Hinterlands. It isn’t my problem.” Evelyn decided she’d head for the Crossroads, get a room at the tavern, drink herself into oblivion and in the morning she would finally get out of the shithole.

The bartender charged her a ridiculous amount of coin for the room and her lip curled in disgust. But she wanted a solid night of sleep before she left, knowing sleep would only come in fits and starts on the road. “Have a bath sent up to my room,” she said, then slapped another coin on the counter before she leaned over it, wrapped her fist around the neck of one of the full bottles of whiskey. He tried to grab it back, but she was quicker.

In her room, she deposited her few belongings while taking long pulls from the bottle. Evelyn wanted to be numb. The round wooden tub was brought up, small, but it would work. When the servants finished filling it with hot water, Evelyn barred the door and stripped. She padded across the room to carefully place her locket on the small dresser, her fingertip tracing the small painted faces. Tears filled her eyes and the ache in her chest felt as if it might rip her right open.

After Alex and Isaak had been slaughtered in Kirkwall during the Qunari invasion, Evelyn had truly wondered if a person could die from grief. Then she began to pray for it. She’d screamed and railed at the Maker, at the Chantry who claimed it was all the Maker’s work. Alex had been her soulmate, the love of her life, the only person who had ever managed to bring out anything remotely soft in her.

The bespectacled man, with wildly curly red hair and a grin that could charm anyone. He had owned her heart. That he’d fallen in love with someone like her had drawn plenty of whispers. How could someone so kind as him truly want to be with someone like _her_? Evelyn had never understood it, and she had thanked the Maker on a daily basis. Right up until she’d received word that they had been killed.

Grabbing hold of the bottle again she drank until her eyes and lungs burned for a different reason. The hot water felt good against her skin as she sunk into the water and closed her eyes against the vibrant green glow that emanated from her left hand. Did she really _need_ her left hand?

Bathed, a little drunk, and dressed in her simple leggings and tunic she made her way down the stairs to the main room of the tavern. Food. Her belly felt hollow and she didn’t remember the last time she’d eaten something other than the small bit of rations she had packed in her bag. Evelyn’s steps faltered as she reached the last step. The man from earlier stood at the bar, chatting with the bartender. He laughed at something the bartender said and then paid for his drink.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair graying at the temples and there were streaks of it in his beard. Rugged. Handsome. So very unlike Alex. Evelyn shook her head at the thought. Sex was easy. Sex numbed the pain too. The first time she’d found a man and fucked him after Alex’s death she’d retreated and cried so hard she’d made herself sick. But hands on flesh and in secret places, she could escape for a few precious moments.

Crossing the room with a purposeful stride, Evelyn came to a stop behind the man and ignored the look the bartender gave her. “You married?” she asked.

The man startled, looked down at her and stared for just a moment. “My lady,” he inclined his head. “Uh, no...”

“Share my bed tonight.” There was no point in being demure. If he wasn’t interested in fucking, she’d find someone else.

He coughed, a spray of alcohol hitting the bartender in the face and Evelyn smirked as the bartender cursed and stormed off. Then her attention fell back on the sputtering man. “My lady-”

“Evelyn,” she cut him off. “Yes or no?”

He blinked down at her, his mouth working before he tossed back the rest of the drink. “Yes,” he said and Evelyn felt something tight in her chest uncoil.

“Good.” She turned on her heel and headed for the stairs. Food forgotten in the face of potential quiescence. She heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs as he followed her up to the room. Inside she closed and latched the lock shut before turning on him. “Strip,” she commanded and yanked her tunic over her head. He stood unmoving, staring at her and she wondered if her decision with this man had been the wrong one. “Look, I want to fuck. If you’re not up to it then just leave.”

A beat later he crossed the room, lowered his head and she knew he wanted to kiss her. Quickly Evelyn turned her head away. “No, I don’t kiss.” He didn’t move for a moment, then she felt the scrape of his beard along her jaw before his teeth gently sunk into her tender ear lobe.

“Blackwall,” he said in a gruff voice. “I want to hear you scream it when you cum.”

She let out a snort of laughter. Well, he thought a lot of himself, didn’t he? The next moment she found herself tumbling back onto the bed, calloused fingers caught the waistband of her leggings and yanked them down. She still wore her boots so they only went as far as just below her knees. “I think you-” But then Blackwall was on his knees, her thighs draped over his broad shoulders and his mouth was buried between her thighs.

It was so unexpected she cried out, one hand fisting in his hair the other clamping over her mouth. There was no preamble. He didn’t tease. He devoured her. The wet slide of his lips and tongue made her whimper, the heels of her boots digging into his back, desperate for _more_. His beard was rough against her skin, and the scratch of it against the insides of her thighs, over the delicate flesh, that he alternated between lapping and sucking at, was nothing she’d ever imagined could be enjoyable.

Two thick fingers slipped inside her, twisted. “Fuck!” she cried out, back arching. He latched onto her clit and she sobbed as his fingers pumped into her mercilessly. “Oh! Fuck!” she shouted again as the orgasm struck her as violently as a bolt of lightning. His free arm banded around her waist and he held her to him, unyielding in the blissful torment. Evelyn was certain she’d never screamed through an orgasm before. But her body wasn’t hers to control at the moment. Her thighs clamped around Blackwall’s head, her fingers tightening in his hair. Her back bowed and the scream the escaped her made her throat ache. Absently, she felt tears trickle from the corner of her eyes as the pleasure claimed her entire body.

Sometime later, Evelyn felt the scratch of Blackwall’s beard on her thighs as he extricated himself from between them. She felt the tug of him unlacing her boots, heard the thump as they hit the floor. Then her trousers and smalls were gone and she lay naked and still struggling to remember how to breathe on the bed. There was the rustle of fabric and she wondered if he was leaving. Her body both completely sated and desperate for more she wasn’t sure how she felt about the idea.

Then she felt warm lips on her belly, the scrape of his beard as he made his way slowly up her torso with his mouth. Blackwall laved attention on her breasts, not missing an inch of either one. As he progressed she felt the heat of his skin, realized he’d finally stripped out of his own clothes. Her eyes fluttered open when his mouth brushed her chin. She jerked her head away. “No,” it was a gasp, all she could manage.

Blackwall stilled. “Not the mouth,” he said quietly. “I got it.”

Evelyn blinked up at him. The room was dark, the only light a lantern burning low on the desk in the far corner and the soft glow of green that came from her own hand. He seemed to realize it at the same moment and he reached for her hand, brow furrowed. “What in the world?”

Jerking her hand back she curled her fingers over her palm. “It’s nothing.”

“Looks a bit like those rifts that keep spitting out demons,” he commented and her lip curled.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped at him.

“Alright,” he gave a little nod of his head and she stared up at him. Shadows held his face and staring up at him, she realized his sorrow matched her own. Maybe not the same sorrow, made he hadn’t lost a child, a lover. But he was just as damaged as she was.

“You were supposed to scream my name when you came,” there was amusement in his voice as he lowered his head, mouth finding the pulse point below her ear.

“I don’t-” she gasped softly when his fingers slid through her folds, still soaking wet and sensitive. “I don’t scream.” Evelyn felt him smirk before his teeth scraped over the tender spot below her ear.

“You don’t scream?” he inquired, fingers sliding along her clit. She jerked against him, gasping softly.

“Fuck, just fuck me already!”

“Such a filthy mouth, my lady,” he rasped against her ear. He thumbed her clit and she clamped her lips shut, trying to silence the cry. “You’ll scream my name for me,” Blackwall told her and she shook her head.

“Not a chance,” she gasped out between clenched teeth.

Blackwall had her on her stomach between one moment and the next. He yanked her up onto her knees and straddled her calves. Evelyn felt the press of his cock against her core and her eyes rolled back in her head. The man felt huge, thick and heavy and she just wanted him to fuck her until she forgot everything. “Oh, you’ll scream for me,” he said.

Now he did tease her. One hand held her hip while the other rubbed his cock through the wet heat of her. Again and again, sliding along her folds, spreading her wetness. “Would you just get on with it?” she snapped, trying to disguise how desperate she felt.

“Say my name, my lady.”

Her core clenched. Something about the way he said ‘my lady’ did strange things to her. “Either fuck me or get out.” The head of his cock brushed against her clit and she curled her fists into the bedding and tried to shove back against him.

“I want to hear you say my name,” he said, sounding far too calm.

Angry tears stung her eyes and Evelyn growled. “You’re a fucking bastard, Blackwall.”

He chuckled and she felt him lean over her, his lips soft against the back of her shoulder. “My lady,” he murmured and then in one smooth stroke he sheathed himself inside her to the hilt.

Evelyn’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The man was big. But with the angle and the way he held her thighs pressed closed he felt massive. He withdrew slowly, almost completely slipping from her body and she sucked in a breath, empty and hollow. “Please,” she begged and was ashamed. She’d never begged in her life.

He slammed home again and she keened, her back bowing. “Yes! Fuck! Fuck! Yes!” The pace he set was ruthless. Driving hard thrusts, the sound of flesh slapping flesh echoed in the room accompanied by Evelyn’s gasps for more and Blackwall’s own harsh breathing. When his fingers found her clit the orgasm blindsided her and her nails dug into her palms. “Yes!”

He covered her back with his chest again, and she felt the hair scrape against her spine. “My name, my lady,” he said against her ear.

“No,” she snarled, unsure why she was so adamant in her refusal. His next thrust went impossibly deep and he held himself there, unmoving, just pulsing hard and so deep inside of her. Evelyn clenched her jaw tightly as his fingers worked her clit. The unsteady rhythm denying her pleasure. “I hate you,” she spat. “Fucking bastard.”

He pulled out and she gasped. He wouldn’t just leave, would he? He hadn’t cum yet. Blackwall manhandled her and she was a little ashamed to acknowledge she enjoyed it. Shoving her onto her right side, he grabbed her left leg, pushed it up and out of the way as he straddled the other. Then he was inside of her again, fucking her even harder than before. Sweat soaked the both of them, and she relished in the feel of his fingers digging into her flesh as he held onto her.

Evelyn could feel the orgasm coming quickly, just a little more and she’d find release. Darting her own hand between her thighs, she intended to stroke her clit, to give herself that last little push, but Blackwall moved quicker. He caught first one hand, then the other and held both wrists and leaned forward, pushing her thigh up higher. Pleasure and pain stole her breath as he leaned his face close to hers. “Say it,” he breathed and she felt his breath on her lips. She inhaled sharply, drawing in his air.

“Blackwall,” it was a whisper, but she saw his eyes dilate, the pupils widen and his thrusts grew rougher. “Blackwall,” she said it again and he released her wrists, his hands coming to rest on the bed on either side of her. Evelyn twisted her upper body, curled her own fingers around his wrists and held onto him as he pounded into her. His name a mantra on her lips now as she surged closer to pleasure.

“Blackwall!” His name tore from her throat.

He murmured her name, far quieter, again and again with each thrust. Until they faltered, he jerked and she felt the warm flood fill her. He rocked his hips and a quiet whimper escaped her lips. Eyes fluttering shut, she felt his lips run along her jawline before he nuzzled the tender place below her ear. Bliss. Mindless bliss. The endless pain finally gone for a few heartbeats as she lay beneath Blackwall’s warm and heavy body, his cock still pulsing inside of her.

Moments stretched out, breathing slowly returned to normal, his cock slipped from her body as he shifted away from her. Evelyn shivered and she sat up as Blackwall got to his feet. Before she could even reach for the throw blanket that had been tossed over the chair a few feet away Blackwall had it in hand, then he held it out to her and she wrapped it around her shoulders, holding it to her chest to stave off the sudden chill as she watched him gather and drag his clothing back on.

He crouched to tie the laces of his boots before straightening again and running a hand through his hair. “My lady,” he said, inclining his head. Then he was gone, the door softly clicking shut behind him. Evelyn stood on unsteady legs and first locked the door then crossed to the dresser, picked up the locket and slipped the chain over her head before curling her fist around the pictures of her family.


End file.
